Chapter Twenty

August 28, 1812

J ohn shifted awkwardly on his feet and was tapped on the shoulder by an irritated Chance.

"Keep a hold of yourself!"

"I can't," muttered John, hating how his brother's voice echoed so loudly around the church. Damn it, everyone would have heard that. "I can't stay still."

Lindow snorted as he stood beside him, dressed rather uncomfortably from what John could see. "You should never have agreed to this. What were you thinking?"

"Thinking?" John repeated.

He had been thinking things that were simply not to be repeated in a church. Particularly not with the vicar glaring at him for his earlier outburst.

Besides, it wasn't about thoughts. It was about feelings—feelings he had been surprised to discover he had, then realized he could not do without. Feelings for her.

Miss Florence Bailey.

Panic sparked. He had run a risk, asking her to marry him again so soon after their first wedding date had passed by without a wedding.

Try as they might, they had not been able to keep the wedding of Miss Bailey and the Marquess of Aylesbury a secret. Despite only having sent out about ten invitations—mostly to family—John had been most astonished to arrive at the church nearly half an hour ago to find most of the ton already waiting inside.

Damned vultures. They wanted to see if Florence would actually go through with it and marry him.

The trouble was, John was just as curious.

"What if she doesn't come?" he muttered.

Lindow snorted. "Her loss."

"Lindow!"

"Well, what do you want me to say?" shrugged the Earl of Lindow with a grin. "That she'll have had a lucky escape?"

John knew he shouldn't punch his brother in the face. Not just because they were in a church, but because that sort of thing was frowned upon in polite Society.

He would have to wait until they were in impolite Society.

A man cleared his throat behind them, and both Chance brothers turned to see who was behind them.

John immediately glanced at Lindow, whose expression was wooden, but addressed the newcomer. "Pernrith."

"Aylesbury," nodded the illegitimate Chance who had, nonetheless, been one of the few recipients of an actual invitation. "Ready?"

"Of course he's ready," snarled Lindow, as if the man had just offered a terrible insult. "What are you—"

"Ah, there you all are," said another voice coming up the aisle as the congregation milled about before the bride arrived. "Damn it, Aylesbury, now I owe Alice a pound."

John nodded weakly as the oldest Chance brother and his wife strode up to them, arm in arm. "You didn't think I would show?"

"Just based on all I know you and all past behavior," the Duke of Cothrom said with a tight smile. "Nothing personal."

It almost made John laugh. Yes, he supposed it was not personal. That was just the way William Chance was. Always expecting the worst, and usually proven right. But this time, he, John, was going to do what was right.

He would just have to hope Florence would believe that.

"No bride yet, then?" Alice said with a teasing look as she and her husband slipped into the pew behind them.

John's stomach lurched. "Not . . . not yet."

"I suppose you're wondering what you'll do if she doesn't come," Alice said conversationally, seating herself and placing a hand over her belly protectively.

Not that she needed to , John could not help but think. She was not showing, at least as far as he could tell. He did not even officially know yet, though Pernrith had told him and he had told Florence. In fact, now he came to think about it, everyone relevant knew, except maybe Lindow. Except that Cothrom and Alice did not know they knew.

It was going to get a bit tangled.

"What if she doesn't come?" John said weakly, hoping desperately no one save his family could catch his words.

"Then she'll have more sense than I give her credit for," said Cothrom stiffly.

Alice tapped him on the shoulder at the same time as Pernrith shook his head and Lindow snorted. "William! How can you say such a—"

"You all saw the note he wrote!" protested Cothrom, raising his hands in surrender. "You know he's an idiot!"

"I most certainly do," said Alice levelly. "And—"

"I'm still here, you know," pointed out John, trying not to laugh.

"And if Miss Bailey is happy to accept an idiot, then why not let her?" continued Alice as though he had not spoken. "After all, I did."

John joined in with Lindow's laughter this time as they watched a pink tinge color their older brother's cheeks. "She's got you there, Cothrom."

"I suppose she has," admitted his brother with a sigh. "But you can't expect all women in Society to be willing to marry us idiotic Chances."

"Never fear, I will be staying far away from the marriage bed," said Lindow with a shake of his head. "Now any old bed, on the other hand—"

"You are in a church," hissed Cothrom with blazing eyes.

"Not for much longer," Lindow said happily, as though he were not attracting scowls of outrage from half the people in the church. "I don't think she's coming."

John swallowed.

The thought had crossed his mind earlier that morning, and since it had, it was all he could think about. What if she did not come? What if Florence decided against it—decided he was far too much trouble? More trouble than he was worth?

Oh, he could hardly blame her. But he would live the rest of his life regretting her.

"Can't you just be happy for me?" he found himself saying to his brothers at large.

Cothrom placed an arm around Alice, pulling her into him with a wide grin. "Look, Aylesbury, if you end up half as happy as I am, then you will be doing remarkably well."

John tried not to look at the expressions of devotion the Duke and Duchess of Cothrom exchanged. It was so intimate, so sickly sweet, he felt as though he had interrupted them in the privacy of their breakfast room.

Or worse.

Lindow was pretending to retch.

"What a pleasant sentiment, Your Grace," said Pernrith politely.

"Yes, yes, very nice," said John with a sigh, nudging the brother beside him. "Leave off, Lindow."

"Fine," Lindow said smartly. "But as I'd like double the happiness, I won't be getting married at all."

John gave out a laugh, shaking his head. "I suppose that—"

His next words were drowned out by the organ, and a loud creaking of a door. Not just any door. The door. The door to the church.

She was here.

Voices fell silent throughout the church. The organ music stretched to the rafters as people took their seats, leaving only Lindow beside him remaining upright. John stared at the altar before him, knowing he should not turn before Florence had approached him.

But he couldn't help it.

Not because he wished to see what she was wearing. In truth, not that he would ever admit it openly, he didn't care what she was wearing. She wouldn't be wearing it for long.

No, it was because he knew precisely how Florence would be feeling in this moment.

Terrified. Shy. Hating the attention. Wishing he had capitulated and agreed to elope—something John had thought she had suggested in jest, but as it turned out, had been in earnest. Anything to escape the curious, watchful stares of the ton .

But while John Chance would have been more than happy to elope with the woman he loved, the Marquess of Aylesbury had to wed in the family church, witnessed by—at the very least—the extended Chance family. The entirety of the ton catching wind of their wedding date had not exactly been part of the plan.

And so John turned, hoping his devotion would be visible down the aisle so Florence would know how he felt.

She was so beautiful. So kind. The shyness that was a core part of her was making her cheeks pink, her red, flaming hair piled up under a white veil that gave her a mystical quality John had always known was there, but had only ever seen when the two of them were alone.

Here she was. Marrying him. Walking down the aisle, before hundreds, just to become his wife.

John's chest swelled. This was a difficult day for Florence—being gawped at was her absolute nightmare. Even with her brother, Philip, holding her arm, it was clear she was not enjoying the spectacle she was creating.

Just for a moment, he wished they had eloped.

But this was right, he knew. The whole world had to know he was marrying Florence because he wanted to, not because he had to. Not because of any agreement, or marriage of convenience. An elopement may have made it look as though they... well, needed to get married in a hurry.

As Florence drew level with him, John could see her fingers shaking as they held her bouquet of roses, and his affection for her grew even more.

Philip carefully placed Florence's hand on John's and nodded. John nodded in return, his attention following his future brother-in-law as he stepped to the other side of the aisle. He joined Mrs. Bailey, who caught John's eye and mouthed word "finally."

Stifling a smile, John heard Lindow beside him snort. Without letting go of Florence, or even turning away, he carefully lifted his right foot and stepped on his brother's left.

"What the devil—"

"We are gathered here today," said the vicar smoothly, shooting a glare at the Earl of Lindow, "to celebrate the union..."

"You look very beautiful," John breathed to his bride, unable to help himself.

Though it was scandalous of him to speak underneath the vicar's intonations, he could not help it. She was radiant. He had never seen a woman glow like that before. Did Florence even know she was doing it?

Her cheeks reddened. "Y-You have to s-say that. It's m-my wedding d-day."

Florence's voice was low, hardly more than a flutter, but it was a calming balm to John's soul. She was here. She was actually going to marry him.

"I have to correct you there," he said softly. "I have to say it because you are. And I'll keep saying it every day of our lives."

"Ahem."

Startled, John looked up to see the vicar examining him with a wry look. "A new vow. I like it."

John smiled weakly. "Ah. Hello."

"Hello, my lord," said the vicar, shaking his head as he beheld the two of them. "I hope I am not interrupting? May I go on with the service?"

Florence's hand gripped John's arm, and he knew she would be flushing most furiously. This was the life they had chosen. Florence would have to put up with his nonsense, and he would have to put up with...

Now he came to think about it, he couldn't think of anything in Florence he would have to put up with. Her mother?

"Yes, p-please," Florence said in answer to the vicar's question. "B-Before I ch-change my mind again."

There was a ripple of laughter behind them and this time it was John's turn to flush. "She doesn't mean it."

"Well, just in case she does," said the vicar, a twinkle in his eye, "let's get on with it."

And they must have done. John could hardly remember what happened next, the whole service a whirlwind of vows and promises and the knowledge, the wonderful knowledge, that he was going to have Florence with him for the rest of his life.

Forever.

Before John knew it, they had returned to the Baileys' home for the wedding reception.

Which was all very well and good , he could not help but think dryly, when you had only invited ten people. But when another hundred or so decided to invite themselves...

"More canapés, and open every bottle of wine in the cellar!" cried Mrs. Bailey smartly as she marched across the lawn issuing orders to the housekeeper who was bustling along beside her. "Send out for pies, we need pies—anything to feed the hordes!"

John chuckled as a hand tightened in his own. He turned to the woman he loved.

"Remind m-me," Florence said, her voice tight. "How m-many people did w-we invite to this thing?"

"Twelve, if you include us."

"And h-how many p-people have I been forced to greet?"

John looked about him.

They were standing in the French doors of the drawing room which opened out onto a small terrace and the lawn of the Bailey garden. The room behind them was packed to the rafters, and it was getting difficult to see the green of the lawn, there were so many people milling upon it.

"Oh, I would say around two hundred," John said. "Maybe more."

"And h-how m-many more do I need to meet?" Florence asked, her voice low.

John bit his lip.

This wasn't what he had wanted for her. This was supposed to be a calm, simple wedding. A small one. One that could be enjoyed, instead of endured.

"Perhaps another five couples."

It would have taken anyone by surprise. Even the most outgoing and adventurous woman would have been caught off guard by such Societal attention. Yet he could see the resolve sharpening in Florence's gaze as she beheld her many guests. But still she was a wallflower. She was shy. She did not appreciate crowds, and was far happier in the company of a very few. Perhaps even just one.

And John did not wish her to change, though he was proud to see such determination wash through her. To see Florence rise to the task, to see her put others first and push herself beyond what she was comfortable with.

A powerful, brave, and intelligent woman. And with the sort of packaging that would make a man pant.

How had he been so fortunate?

"Come with me," John whispered.

They managed to skirt around Lady Romeril who was seemingly giving a lecture on how a wallflower should attempt to find a husband, past Lord Galcrest who was telling anyone who would listen how he was instrumental in today's celebration, past Mrs. Bailey who was hastily pouring champagne for Lady Stratton and Mr. Hargreaves, past footmen running in and out of the house with platters of food...

Until they stepped back into the house by the side door and into the breakfast room.

John poked his head in and saw with relief that it was empty. "In here."

Florence stared in confusion as he shut the door behind them. The din of the wedding reception immediately died away. "Wh-Why are we here?"

"Because I know you," he said. "You need five minutes with no one talking to you or looking at you. It's quite all right. You can... well, you can recover."

Florence looked at him and his stomach lurched. Dear God, he would do almost anything for this woman.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'll leave you be," said John gently, stepping toward the door.

At least, he attempted to. Florence had reached out before he could leave, grabbing at his arm with a confused look on her face. "What do you think you're going?"

He frowned. "I... well, I knew you would need time to yourself. I thought you'd want to be alone."

"I do want to be alone," said Florence, a twinkle in her eye pinking her cheeks. "But I can b-be alone with you."

John swallowed, then pulled her into his arms, embracing tightly the woman he knew he could not do without. It was such a heartfelt thing for her to say, such an intimacy—he hardly knew how to thank her.

"I don't deserve this second chance," he said in a muffled voice to her shoulder.

"Probably not," said Florence. She pulled back and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. "But in a way, maybe I don't either. I've... well, I should have known my fortune would have something to do with it, and I didn't ask because... because I didn't want the answer. I was a coward, too, in my own way."

"Perhaps this is why this means so much," said John with a sigh.

"Means what?"

His grip tightened around her, the feeling of Florence, the weight of her against his chest, the knowledge that now they had forever. "Everything."